Penance and Damnation
by Arldetta
Summary: AU after 3B, The aftermath of the Nogitsune seemed a little light for all the trouble it caused. So this will explore what possibly could have happened in the aftermath. Primarily Stiles-centric. No real shipping. Please R&R.
1. Prologue: Blood

Blood. They demanded it. They would not be satisfied until they had it.

Blood. Blood that flowed through the town like rainwater. Life and Death in its power.

With it, there was pain. Without it, there was pain. Bonded by it. Washed in it. It is the physical representation of the heart and soul.

It is the one truth that man has accepted and understood throughout time. The spilling of blood had consequences.

Even in the early days of the Bible, man called for it – Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Damnation and Salvation could be found by it. Blood of a Lamb.

The spilling of Blood. Pain. Loss. Innocent. Guilty.

Retaliation. Revenge. Retribution. Even now, when pain is inflicted, we lust for it. Right the wrong. Civilized or Medieval; it doesn't matter, as long as the price has been paid.

He understood that. Knew that the time would be near when his would be called for. He feared that moment and yet the dark seed of guilt that was slowly consuming his soul cried out for it.

Blood. It would be his penance and damnation.

- TW – TW – TW –

Quick AN, this is just the beginning of hopefully a longer story. Full note at the end of Chapter 1, which has also been posted.

Disclaimer - don't own Teen Wolf. Just enjoy exploring that world now and then.


	2. Chapter 1: Valediction

His fingers trembled as he struggled to button his shirt.

Numb. A self-induced, coping numb, enveloped him. The kind one inflicts because one had to. It's a self-preservation kind of numb. To hold the feelings at bay.

He couldn't afford to feel right now. If he did, it would be mere seconds before the pain and despair would cripple him and he would wallow in his suffering in the corner of hell that had become his life. A hell he created for himself. A hell he deserved for all the pain he had caused.

_Stop!_ His mind screamed. For an instant his fingers stilled. He clenched his eyes to push back the thoughts and emotions threatening to overwhelm him. _Numb._ He kept reciting, slowly building up the wall, brick by brick, around his feelings.

When he was just about done with his wall, the gentle, soothing timber of his father's voice pulled him back out to the living world. "Hey," the man spoke while his callused hand wiped away the tears he hadn't known he shed, "Are you up for this? Because if you're not…"

"I have to go, dad." He said in a shaky voice. The trembling returned. In fact, his whole body was vibrating from the intensity of the situation. "I _have_ to."

For a moment the two stood there, brown eyes locked with blue, searching and calculating. In the end, the older man simply nodded in understanding. He knew his son had to go too, but this was his son, and he did _not_ want to see the boy suffer any more than he already has.

Unfortunately, there was no way to shield his child from the torment to come. Not like he had been able to do with some of the other tragedies over the last week.

Resigned to the inevitable, he whispered, "Okay, Stiles, we'll go." Then he proceeded to finish buttoning up his son's shirt.

Between the two of them, they finished quickly and headed out.

- tw –

A heaviness filled the air outside the building. It had nothing to do with the weather, for it was bright and warm. No, the heaviness was due to the occasion. It was somber, tragic; full of pain and loss. And it weighed heavily on him, when he stepped out of the vehicle. Like gravity had suddenly become five times stronger and each step took effort.

The journey from the car to the door felt like forever. And it was only the supportive, strong presence of his father that kept him moving.

They were early. A private viewing before the public, for those that knew the truth. And Stiles knew the truth more than any of them. Father and son stepped into the foyer to familiar faces. Faces that appeared to be stunned at their arrival.

Immediately, Scott came up to them. "Stiles, what are you doing here?"

"I had to, Scott."

"But," he hesitated, "Are you sure you're up for this?" Scott's concern obvious. After all, Stiles didn't faint after they defeated the Nogitsune for nothing. It had been apparent to the pack that whatever ordeal the dark spirit had put him through had taken a significant toll on his body, which hadn't dissipated over time, like they hoped.

Shaking, his head, the words rushed out of Stiles. "Doesn't matter. I had to be here. I… After sh- …" Ducking his head and clenching his eyes shut, he struggled with his thoughts and his voice, desperate to find a way to get them to work in conjunction so he could speak. He finally managed a weak, "She was my friend too. I owe it to her to be here."

Scott nodded in understanding then pulled his best friend into a tight hug.

The Sherriff and Melissa McCall watched their boys with broken hearts. They moved away from the teens to a corner. "Are you sure he should be here?" Melissa began.

"No. But he insisted and I wasn't going to stop him. If he didn't at least try, he would regret it for the rest of his life."

"But he…"

"Did you bring it?" Sherriff abruptly asked. He had to know.

She nodded. "Are you sure we'll need it?" The parents stole another glance of their children. Scott and Stiles still clung to each other in mutual grief.

Sighing, Stilinski confirmed, "I know my son. This is not going to end well."

Some long minutes later, Scott pulled away. Stiles glanced up at his best friend with red-rimmed eyes and tried to smile. "Thanks." Quickly, his eyes scanned the room, absorbing everything.

The pack was there, or he should say, what was left of the pack was there. Just inside the entrance, brooding in a corner, by himself, as should be expected, was Derek. Off to his right stood Lydia and Ethan, their proximity another testament to their own shared grief over Aiden. Stiles fervently ignored the thoughts that threatened. A brief intense flare of anger burst inside his chest. There would be no funeral for the missing twin. That death would go unaccounted for. He couldn't decipher the mix of feelings he had at that injustice so he pushed them away until he could focus more time to it.

To his left, by the open doorway to the viewing room, Argent stood tall with arms crossed, his shadow Isaac just behind him. Stiles avoided looking at the man. There was too much loss, too much pain., in such a short period of time. The realization that his sister murdered an entire family, including innocent children only to be killed by Peter. His wife bitten and subsequently sentenced to death before she could turn and kill anyone else. And finally, the reason they were gathered today, a daughter who had been taken too soon by a crazed carjacker – or so the story went.

But Stiles knew the truth. Knew what his weakness had cost Allison, her dad, Scott, Isaac, everyone. What it is still costing them. He couldn't look at Argent. He just couldn't face what he might find there. So he averted his eyes and stared into the open doorway.

He knew what waited silently in the room for him. This wasn't the first time he had ever done this and with the way their lives were going doubted it would be the last. That didn't make it any easier though. Probably made it that much worse. Their lives were dangerous now, and the likelihood of all their friends making it out of High School alive seemed impossible now.

Glancing over to his dad and Melissa, his heart skipped a beat. Just the thought of losing either of them turned his blood to ice. Ramming down the fear that spiked though him, Stiles looked back to the viewing room and took a tentative step forward.

The grip Scott had on his arm tightened. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, I have to do this alone."

The hand released its hold and gently patted his back. Stiles focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Cautiously, he made his way into the viewing room and noted the open casket at the far end. His vision swam but he refused to give in. Steadying himself, he continued his journey. With each step he felt as if he passed another barrier, each one thicker than the last. The invisible walls sought to hold him back, but he stubbornly refused to walk away. He came here to honour her and he would do it no matter what. The pressure made it hard to breathe.

When he finally drew up beside the polished coffin adorned with fragrant flowers, he was gasping for air as if he had run a marathon. Somewhere deep inside, he found the courage to look down. A sob escaped him. She was beautiful. The true love of his best friend looked as if she were sleeping. _How could she look so peaceful?_ He marveled. A sleeping angel that would never awaken again. And it was his fault.

His knees buckled and he crashed onto the altar, gripping the railing for dear life. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm Sorry, I'm sorry… I'm sorry." He kept repeating through the wracking sobs. The reality of the truth hitting him full force.

He had been unconscious when it happened. And when he was finally coherent enough to understand what they were saying, he had the luxury of focusing on defeating the Nogitsune to consume his thoughts. But he hadn't _seen_ the truth until now. "'m sorry, 'smy fault. All my fault. Allison. Allison! Why you? Not you. Shouldn't have been you. Should have been me! It should have been me! ALLISON!"

And then there were arms around him, pulling him away.

"NO!"

Voices engulfed him. So many voices trying to sooth away the pain. Trying to console him when he didn't deserve it. Frantic now, his eyes sought the Hunter. He reached out for the man as soon as he saw him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt her. It's all my fault. It should have been me!"

There was a quick pinch in his neck and quickly the world faded away. His litany of sorry faded with him. Even after he had stilled, no one moved. Their hearts breaking all over again. Not just for the one they lost but because of the ones left behind. Tears and sniffles filled the quiet while they collected their thoughts and reigned in their emotions.

After an eternity, Isaac broke the silence. "Will he be alright?"

Sherriff Stilinski looked to the youth with sad, worried eyes and breathed out, "I don't know."

Next to him, Melissa touched his arm and whispered, "You were right. I'm sorry." When the man called her and asked her to bring a heavy sedative, she couldn't fathom needing it. But the man knew his son. Knew the depth of emotions that ran through Stiles. And he had been right.

He covered her hand with his and smiled sadly. "S'ok. Thank you. I should take him home."

"I'll help you." Both Scott and Isaac offered. But the Sherriff shook his head.

"No, I can handle it. And he wouldn't forgive himself if he made you miss this. You all need to be here, because he couldn't be. Not like he wanted to be anyway." Carefully, he stood up and moved to collect his son.

"We can help you to the car at least," Derek spoke up for the first time. And that the Sherriff could accept. Together, the pack saw the Stilinski's off then headed back into the funeral home. The official viewing would begin soon.

The already heavy atmosphere made that much worse by Stiles' guilt and pain. Isaac was still searching for an answer. "Will he be alright?"

"Will any of us?" Scott countered.

They all knew the answer though no one spoke it aloud. _No._

Life in Beacon Hills had been changed forever. The aftermath of struggle often brought victory but always at a cost. Stiles' breakdown just proved that the cost was still being paid. They could only hope that the debt they owed was not too steep.

For now, they would have to endure. Find a way to reconcile. Find a way to move past the pain and live.

- TW – TW – TW –

I hope you liked it. Personally I enjoy delving into the emotions of characters. And I often think about how they would respond and deal with certain situations, especially those conveniently skipped over in shows. And as I said in my other fic, I just can't believe that the town of Beacon Hills will simply dismiss all the carnage that followed after the Nogitsune. I also can't imagine Stiles letting go of it all so easily either, let alone the rest of the pack.

Therefore, this will be an alternate of Season 4. Our world always seeks to find a reason behind events, those responsible and I doubt Beacon Hills would be any different. My muse has ideas for future chapters so I hope to post again soon. Just not promising anything, or offering a timeframe that may not be met. I'm still waiting for inspiration for my divine move, so to speak.

Now if this touched your heart in any way, I would greatly appreciate your comments and feedback. I really want to know if I got the emotions right. So, please, please, please let me know. I miss reading reviews, my muse feels lonely.

In any case, thank you for reading, reviewing, faveing and alerting.

Your humble writer,

~Ari :)


	3. Chapter 2: Nightmare

Awareness came to Stiles as if it were a movie; a movie where a person is running and those first few steps are held in the grips of slow-mo then moments later accelerate into fast forward. His senses had taken in his surroundings little by little at first then moments later his eyes popped open and fear gripped his heart accelerating into a quickened beat. "No, no, no," he pleaded to no one. "This can't be happening. It's over."

"If that were true, then I would not be here, Stiles." The deep drawl sent shivers up his spine.

"We defeated you." Desperate to be free of this nightmare, Stiles tried to escape only to find he was strapped once again in the chair in the basement of Eichen House.

"Did you really believe you would be rid of me?" The voice slinked ever closer.

"We destroyed you! You're gone!"

Suddenly, the fetid breath, razor teeth and bandaged face was inches from his own, the Nogitsune's hands gripped his arms tightly to the chair. Instinctively, Stiles cowered under its anger. "You may have destroyed my body, but you can't get rid of me! You let me in, Stiles. I am a part of you now. I-am-your-Shadow." The demon hissed, causing the young man to whimper. "I am the part of you destined to fulfill my purpose – chaos, strife and pain. And I will have it."

"No," Stiles managed to defy the creature. Forcing himself to look at it directly, to gain back some control. "I won't let you."

A mocking cackle was its response. "You're too late, Stiles. The pieces have already been set into motion. You can't stop it. And your friends will die. One-by-one. Just like I promised."

"No! No!" Stiles screamed. Bucking and struggling to break free. To fight. But the bindings held firm. "NOOO!"

And just as suddenly, darkness descended. The leather straps became soft, pliable but held just as strongly. A new voice was whispering in his ear and it took him a few minutes to register what was being said and by whom.

"It's ok. It's ok kiddo. I got you. You're safe." His father soothed while trying to prevent Stiles from injuring himself by his struggles.

Going from nightmare to awake was always a difficult transition and Stiles' voice shook as he tried to comprehend his surroundings. "Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me. I got ya, kiddo." Automatically, he brought his hands up and instructed, "Count." Slowly they worked their way up to ten and Stiles sighed relieved. His father encouraged him to relax, which he gradually permitted his body to do. At the soft timber of his father's voice, Stiles shifted and clung to the man tightly. His anchor to reality.

The Sheriff responded in kind by gripping his boy in turn and rested his chin on top the mussed hair of his son. "You wanna talk about it?" The elder Stilinski attempted not for the first time to get his son to talk. Unfortunately, Stiles remained stoic.

Resigned to their routine, the Sheriff sat there holding his boy, gently rubbing his back. They would sit like that for at least an hour before Stiles could slip back into sleep. Then he would extricate himself and wander back to his own bedroom hoping that somehow they would manage some decent rest. Regrettably, he doubted it. Once they were interrupted by the night terrors, any sleep they got afterward was not deep enough to really do any good.

For a while he lay in the dark trying to figure out a way to help his son. And came up empty again. Glancing at the clock on his night stand, he read 5:23 am. Stilinski sighed deeply, knowing that sleep would elude him tonight. So he decided he may as well prepare breakfast and grab the paper before Stiles could see it.

The Sheriff knew he wouldn't be able to protect his son forever, but his simple attempts at least could lessen the blows. News reports have been dominating the front page demanding more from the Sheriff's department to find out who was behind the massacre at the hospital, as well as the bomb at the sheriff station. Memorial services had been held for the victims and articles had been printed about one of the victims everyday sharing memories about the lost.

Shortly after the Nogitsune was defeated, he caught Stiles holding one such paper with the headline "Station Bombed; 9 Dead." The tormented look in his son's eyes damn near shattered his heart. He thought losing his wife was the worst pain he would ever experience, but he was wrong. The amount of agony in his son's expression physically made him hurt. He never wanted to experience that ever again. Nor did he ever want Stiles to go through that again, although he doubted he could prevent it.

So now, he tried to collect the papers and shut off the TV before any hints of the horrible events could be seen by Stiles in a vain attempt to protect his son. At least, from the brunt of it anyway. Allow the bulk of it to blow over while Stiles recovered. Let time lessen the blow or burden. He knew first hand that time did not heal all wounds. It just made the pain more tolerable.

Today's headline was no different. And it made him sick to his stomach. _BHMH Victim 8: 12 yr old Stacey Willis._ Oh how the Nogitsune lived up to its name, causing more chaos, pain and strife than anyone could have possibly imagined. The pain and suffering left in the wake of such evil made even his hardened knees quake. He could only imagine what this would do to his son. No, he would have to make sure Stiles didn't see this one. The boy harboured enough guilt, this would just make it ten times worse than it already was.

Walking over to their trash can, he opened it up, pulled out the last bag, dumped the paper and dropped the bag back on top to hide it. He couldn't imagine losing his child so young. But he also couldn't imaging losing Stiles now either. This whole ordeal damn near killed him. And if he lost the boy now, his heart couldn't bear it. Every single time he looked at his son he could see hints of Claudia.

He adored his wife, would have given up everything for her. He would do the same now for Stiles. But even when Claudia had been sick, the few moments when she was lucid and coherent, she insisted he focus on the world still thriving around him, including their son. And with all the craziness of their lives, Stiles had insisted he focus on helping others, which is what Stiles was trying to do himself for his friends. They were so much alike - kind, gentle, caring, born nurturers. He lost Claudia. Now he feared he was losing Stiles too.

Not to disease but to circumstance. It was the reason he was so conflicted about everything that happened with the Nogitsune. He knew the truth and in this case the truth could hurt them. But what other rational explanation could he offer the world? The thing that inflicted so much pain was not Stiles. The Nogitsune had used his son. It was his boy's likeness and his boy's reputation that was on the line. It all just seemed so…... hopeless.

"Sheriff?" A familiar voice startled him. "You ok?"

Spinning around, Stilinski looked at his second son. It was only then that he realized he had been holding on to the trashcan like a life line and there was moisture on his cheeks. Hastily, he wiped the tears away and regained his composure. "Yeah, Scott, I'm fine." Glancing around he noted the sun was just breaching the horizon – pinks and baby blues danced across cloud bellies. Clearing his throat, he pondered aloud, "What are you doing here so early?"

"I came to check up on you two before school."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know, but I wanted to."

"Since you're here, how about breakfast? I was just about to start."

"Sounds great." Scott smiled, which quickly faded as he watched the older man. Weariness and sadness clung to the man like a bad cologne. Again he asked, "You sure you're ok?"

Clapping a hand on the teen's shoulder, Stilinski offered a wan grin and said, "Yeah, kid. How does scrambled eggs with cheese and some French toast sound? They shouldn't take too long for me to whip up."

Together the pair walked into the house and down the hall to the kitchen. Scott looked around for Stiles but did not see his friend. "Is Stiles not up yet? It's almost time to go to school."

"No, we had a bit of a rough night last night." He answered from behind the fridge door. "In fact, I'm going to keep him home today."

"He still having trouble sleeping through the night?" Scott watched the man he considered a father move about the tight space looking somewhat lost. Most of the time it was Stiles who was cooking and preparing meals. His friend's absence was palpable.

The image of Stiles trashing and screaming flashed across his mind's eye and the older man shivered. "Yeah."

Scott frowned. "Are they getting worse?"

"I don't know," the man admitted. "Stiles' has always had trouble sleeping. Sometimes he has more than one a night, but mostly it's just a difference in intensity. To be honest, it scares the crap out of me to see him like that."

Scott could only imagine. The last time they had an official sleepover was back in middle school. Even then Stiles never slept all the way through the night. Now their sleepovers were a veiled disguise for their nightly endeavors to keep Beacon Hills safe. Many of those experiences could be classified as nightmares themselves. Not really wanting to relive those dark times, he cleared his throat and wondered, "Do you know what the nightmares are about?"

"No, he won't talk to me. Maybe you can get something out of him."

"I'll try." Scott tried to reassure the Sheriff, but it somehow came out feeling like an empty promise. After they had defeated the Nogitsune, Stiles had pretended everything was fine and threw himself into helping everyone else, including helping Malia cope with her powers. While Stiles didn't quite shy away from the topic, he wasn't quite open about it. In fact most times, Scott could hear the bitterness and frustration in his friend's voice the instant the topic came up. And many comments were admonishing himself and his role in it.

Worst part was he could see that Stiles wasn't getting any better. He was still pale, had dark circles under his eyes. He seemed to get out of breath easier during track and lacrosse practice. He had upped the dosage again on his Adderall to help him keep focused in school. Even then it didn't seem like it was enough. On more than one occasion, he would catch Stiles' jerk suddenly and glance around quickly as if he didn't know where he was. Or he would note the faraway look his friend sometimes got lost in.

It scared him. A lot. The Nogitsune may have been defeated but that doesn't mean all the damage he caused would suddenly disappear. That the world would go back to normal and everything would be fine again. No, it just halted the progression of mayhem in its wake. Now everyone had to pick up the pieces left behind and make sense of what happened.

Stiles was coping, barely. He played the part he was meant to; the goof, the spaz, the crazy glue that somehow kept them all together. Working out puzzles, connecting dots. But Scott could see in his eyes, in the way he kept just out of physical reach, that his best friend was drifting further and further away from them.

The werewolf hadn't realized just how long he had been lost in thought until a plate full of eggs and French toast was placed in front of him. It looked great. Unfortunately, he was no longer hungry. Concern had stolen his appetite.

"I hope they came out ok," cautioned the Sheriff.

Chuckling, Scott said, "I'm sure they're great."

"Yeah, well, you know this isn't exactly my forte. But I think they are simple enough even I can handle."

"You cook fine, Dad. You're just out of practice. I let you get soft." Stiles announced from the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, the exhaustion clearly visible in every feature.

Scott ached just looking at him. The aftermath of the funeral yesterday had obviously taken their toll. All progress over the past week had been instantly wiped away. He wanted to rush to his friend and demand to know how he can make him better. But all he managed to say was, "Hey."

"Hey," Stiles returned. The weary grin that turned up the corners of his mouth did little to dispel the alpha's concern. "What you doing here; besides enjoying a gourmet breakfast?" A shaky hand gestured toward his plate.

Scott had to laugh. "Here to see you dumbass."

"I'm not a baby, Scott. I don't need checking up on." The teen admonished. "I'm fine."

"No, but you are my friend and I care about you, so deal with it." Happy to be bantering again.

Papa Stilinski placed another plate full of food next to Scott's. Stiles slowly made his way over and pulled the plate to the other end of the table before he sat to eat. Really, he mostly moved the food around his plate to give the illusion of eating. The younger Stilinski didn't look up as he shifted the eggs about, "So how did last night go after…"

"It went fine," Scott hedged. "When you're ready I can take you to see her. She's right next to her mom."

Guilt speared his chest. It wasn't fair. Absently, he whispered, "Soon… maybe." What right did he have to live, when two of their friends were dead? Going through the motions of life when so many had suffered because of his weakness. Swallowing down the foul taste that suddenly filled his mouth, his stomach protested any thoughts of food. Now that he had lost what little appetite he had left, Stiles got up. "Well, I really should get ready so we're not late for school."

"Sit your butt back down kiddo and finish your breakfast. Don't worry about school today."

"Seriously Dad, I don't need to stay home. I'm fine. In fact staying would probably be a bad idea."

"And why is that?"

"I'll get bored easily and you know how much trouble I can get in when I'm bored." A teasing smirk played at the corner of the teen's mouth.

"Yeah, I know," Stilinski agreed knowingly, though he wasn't deterred. "But you're still not going. It's going to be you and me today, kid."

"What about work, Dad?" A hint of worry replaced any humor in the soft voice.

"I took some time off."

"Come on Dad, you don't need to do that…"

"You're right, but I want to." Seeing his son open his mouth with another protest, the older man cut him off. "Look Stiles, these past few weeks since that whole druid business have been rough on us. Both of us. I almost lost you, more than once. I… we haven't really had a chance to unwind from all of it and spend time together. That's all I'm trying to do. I need it. We both do. So sit, eat. I'm sure Scott can fill you in on what you missed today."

Father and son locked gazes. Stiles' eyes watered at the honest sincerity in the man's words. It was true after all. And he did miss his dad. So, yeah, he could miss another day. "Sure Dad."

Feeling like an intruder and incredibly awkward, Scott shifted. "Then I should probably get going. Should I stop by after work? Deaton wanted me to help out for a few hours after school."

It was the Sheriff who responded, "Sure, we can order some pizza and watch a movie. Is your mom working tonight?"

"No, she should be getting off in a few more hours."

Starting to clear away the plates, he glanced at the other boy saying, "You know she's always welcome to join us."

Smiling, Scott accepted the offer. "I'll let her know." The group walked to the front door while they spoke. Hesitating for a moment, Scott said, "Thanks Sheriff. See ya later, Stiles." Then he opened the door and collided with another body when he stepped outside. Looking up at the taller figure, the teen immediately recognized their visitor and frowned. "Dad?"

"McCall."

"Stilinski."

Scowling, the Sheriff demanded, "What are you doing here? I have the day off."

Unruffled, the FBI Agent acknowledged, "I know. And I'm not here for you."

"Then who are you here for?"

Rafael shifted his gaze to the teen still in his pajamas. In a voice as cold as ice, he announced, "Stiles Stilinski, I am here to take you into custody in association with the attack on Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital and the bombing of the Sheriff Station."

- TW – TW – TW – TW –

Wow, this chapter started easy, got a little rough in the middle and managed to come back at the end. It even ended up being a little longer than I intended so I hope you liked it.

Quick shout out to Guest, thanks for reviewing! Also thanks to those who have faved and alerted this fic. Keep them coming! Much love for you all!

Quick question, I'm trying to get back into social circles and I was wondering if anyone could tell me a good platform to post plot bunnies for TW? I have a few ideas that I think I would rather read than write myself. I would be happy to consult, co-author or beta if needed. PM or review to let me know. I am so tumblr ignorant and only just started dealing with twitter. I feel so old! Sorry, babbling.

Anyway, off to post another chap to _Silencer_ (bonus y'all) and then getting ready for a night at the movies – _Maze Runner_ – Yeah! Gosh, I guess you can be a fangirl at any age. –sigh-

Well, if we're lucky I will post again next Friday. Remember to feed the muse with reviews. ;) Until next time,

~Ari :D


	4. Chapter 3: Consequence

The world imploded around them.

"Like hell you are! Get off my property McCall. You aren't taking my son anywhere. He didn't do anything!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing, dad?" Scott used a little of his supernatural strength to shove the man he called father away from his friend.

Rafael stumbled backward and grabbed the banister at the last minute to steady himself. But Stilinski was charging at him and followed up with another harsh push that had the FBI Agent falling hard onto the walkway. "God dammit, Stilinski, what's the matter with you?!" He bellowed while picking himself back up and brushing off the dirt.

Scoffing with all the anger and derision he could muster, the Sheriff countered, "What's the matter with _me_? You really have to ask? You're trying to arrest my son!"

"We're only taking him in for questioning. He's not under arrest."

"Bullshit! Don't play games with me, I know where questioning tends to lead."

"Only if they're guilty. Does that mean you think Stiles is guilty since you are refusing to cooperate?"

"The _only_ thing he's guilty of is caring too much about his friends and family."

"Then he has nothing to worry about. He just needs to answer a few questions then he can go home."

"Can you guarantee that?" At the man's stoic expression and the resounding silence that filled the tense space between them, Stilinski knew the answer. "That's what I thought. He stays with me."

"Don't make me write you up on Obstruction charges. The cell block at the station would look great with a matching set of Stilinskis in them."

"Don't you threaten me, McCall. You…you…"

"Can stop right there. Don't want to add any more charges to the list, _Sheriff,_ or it might just be _former_ Sheriff after all."

There was a moment hesitation when everything stilled. Hard glares, muscles tense. Even the air was charged with electric anger. And then suddenly lightning struck. The two men collided in a heap, with arms flailing and legs kicking. Grunts and shouts erupted as flesh met flesh.

The two teens watched in awestruck horror for a long breath before moving into action themselves. Scott with his supernatural abilities was able to leverage himself into the scuffle without a problem. Unfortunately, after the Nogitsune, Stiles had yet to fully recover and ended up fairing far worse than he probably should have.

Next thing Stiles' knew he was falling backward and colliding with the trash can.

The trio continued to fight. Two lawmen determined to take the other down. And one werewolf desperate to break it up. If the situation hadn't been so serious it would have been quite comical to Stiles. From the ground, he called out fruitlessly, "Come on guys, stop it!" But they couldn't hear past the angry pounding of the hearts.

Stiles moved to get up and right the trashcan that he upset during his fall when something caught his eye. From under the bag, he noticed the paper with today's date. Curious, he retrieved it and read the headline and immediately wished he hadn't. His heart sank into his gut. A smiling twelve year old girl stared up at him. Slowly, her expression morphed in an accusing glare. "You killed me!" She screamed at him.

His vision blurred. Eyes stung. A sob rattled his chest. The words that poured from his lips would never be enough. "I'm sorry. I'ms'ry, I'ms'ry,I'ms'ry! I didn't mean to. I'M SORRY!"

The heart-wrenching cry froze the others in their tracks. For a horrifying moment, they watched Stiles fling the paper away like it burned him and grab his head. He began rocking back and forth mumbling the apology over and over. The Sheriff forgot all about McCall, his focus solely on his son.

Rushing to the distraught teen's side, Stilinski fell to his knees and wrapped the boy in his arms. "Stiles, it wasn't you. It's not your fault. Please, son, please." He didn't know exactly what he was begging for, he just knew he wanted what the Nogitsune did to just go away and leave his son alone. Hadn't Stiles suffered enough? Dammit! "It wasn't you," his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "It wasn't you."

Scott was torn. He didn't know what to do as he hovered over the crying pair. He wanted to take the pain away. Make everything alright again. But it wasn't. It never would be. Besides, his abilities didn't work on emotional pain. There was nothing he could do but watch his friend crumble.

Agent McCall gathered himself up and took in the grim scene before him. He had never really liked the spastic kid his son hung out with, but that didn't mean he wanted to see Stiles like this. He could see something was very wrong with the boy. The agent in him was certain that Stiles had a hand in the recent chaos but the father in him easily read the pain and guilt written over every inch of the teen. This was no criminal master mind. This was something else he had never seen before. Even he had doubts.

But what could he do? He was honor bound to the system. He didn't have the luxury of opinions - choice. Only facts, witnesses and evidence. Taking the next logical step and reaching conclusions. Go through the motions to uncover the truth. And based on what he had so far, the truth led him here. No, no choice. Clearing his throat, he steeled himself for the task at hand. "I have to take him in for questioning."

The Sheriff practically snarled. "Stiles is in no condition to answer your questions, McCall. He stays."

"You know I can't leave without him."

"And I won't let you leave _with_ him. Looks like we're at an impasse."

Sighing, the government man ran a hand through his hair. They really weren't getting anywhere. And he really didn't want to have to call in back up. Not like he would receive much support. He still had to rely on the Sheriff's men on this case and most of them were not pleased when he said he was bringing Stiles in for questioning. They all respected their chief and most knew his son very well. Needless to say, they were not going to be much help.

During the brief reprieve, the sobs echoing through his chest slowly stilled. Stiles slowly detached himself from the world and the emotions that came with it. His gaze settled on the front page and those smiling eyes looked back at him. He personally may not have been the one to end her life. But he was still accountable. When Deaton first suggested the replacement sacrifice, they had willingly accepted the consequences to save their parents.

They had opened the door. He had invited that foul creature in. And he must face the repercussions. No more would he allow others to suffer. Making a decision, he carefully pulled out of his father's embrace. His body shuddered from the chill of dawn that replaced the love and warmth. He didn't deserve such kindness. Adamantly ignoring the concerned look on his father's face, Stiles turned his attention to the FBI Agent as he stood. "I'll go with you."

"What?!" "No!" Stilinski and Scott shouted at the same time.

"I'll go. It's just a few questions, right?"

Glad that someone finally saw reason, Rafael nodded. "Then you can go home."

Glancing at his house, caramel eyes traveled down to Scott and then his father. Deep down he had the feeling he would not be back for a while. And somehow he was alright with that. He held his hands out to the agent waiting for cold metal to circle his wrists.

Jumping up, the Sheriff wouldn't accept what was happening. "No, Stiles, no! I won't let you. You didn't do anything wrong!" Stilinski was barely holding it together. It was like that night he was dropping Stiles off at Eichen house. It was wrong. All wrong! Not his boy. Not Claudia's son!

"It's ok, dad. It's ok." Stiles tried to reassure the man.

It didn't work. "This is not ok. This is far from ok." The Sheriff reached out for the teen, who took a step back. His heart couldn't take it. Breaking, he begged, "Please, Stiles, please don't go."

Unable to bear the pain present in those bright blue eyes, Stiles looked away. His best friend stood with the same tear filled expression. "Scott," he addressed his brother. "Take care of my dad. Promise you'll take care of him no matter what happens to me."

Choked up, Scott managed to get out, "I promise, Stiles. But you're coming back. You're coming back!"

Stiles offered them a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He couldn't speak. His throat refused to work now. It was probably a good thing too because he didn't want to give them false hope.

Rafael took Stiles' arm and started to pull him toward the black SUV. This was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life and he wanted it to be over as quickly as possible.

The stupor that rooted Stilinski in place suddenly broke. "Nonononono!" One instant he was standing in the walkway, the next he had scooped his child back into his arms. "Please, no, I can't lose you, I can't," he pleaded.

"I'm not dying dad. I'm still here."

"It's not fair. It's not."

"Heyheyhey, listen to me. Dad, we knew this could happen. They're just going to ask some questions. Nothing might come of it. I could be back in a few hours or … We have to let it run its course no matter what."

Drawing back, the older man grasped his son's face in his hands. Accepting for now the inevitable, he instructed, "You say nothing. You hear me? Nothing without me there. I'm gonna follow you to the station and we will get through this together."

"No dad, no. You can't be a part of this. This can't come back on you. Your job…"

"I don't give a shit about my job, Stiles! You are my son and I will stand with you no matter what. You say nothing. You are underage; a parent, guardian or advocate must be present. You wait for me. You understand?"

Deflating under those pain filled cerulean eyes, Stiles nodded. "I'll wait."

"Good boy. I'll be right behind you."

"Okay."

Raf opened the back door to the vehicle and waited as patiently as possible for them to finish. Sensing that it was over, he spoke, "Alright Stiles, let's go for a ride. You'll see your dad soon."

"Stiles!" Scott called to his brother only to stumble over his tongue. He was at a loss for words. The world had crashed in around them. They had lost Aiden. They had lost Allison. And now they were going to lose Stiles.

"Take care of my dad, Scott. He's going to need you." Stiles filled the gap. The door closed and Rafael took the driver's seat. Within moments the vehicle was pulling away.

A chill ran up the werewolf's spine. And he knew that even though they had defeated the Nogitsune, it had not finished with them. No, the chaos, pain and strife it had longed for clung to Beacon Hills like afoul stench. The trickster had set up the best trick of them all and it would have the last laugh.

- TW – TW – TW – TW –

Wow, my muse totally lied to me! Here I thought I would get a head start for next Friday's post and boom! She banged out this emotion packed chapter! I hope you liked it.

Uh, not going to say too much because there is a wicked lightning storm right on top of us. Barely saw the last flash before thunder roared.

Anyway, thank you all for the reviews, follows and faves! You rock!

Thanks for reading!

~Ari :D


	5. Chapter 4: Warrented

The Sheriff bee lined it for the interrogation room as soon as he arrived at the station, with Scott right on his heels.

Just outside the room, Agent McCall was leafing through a folder in his hands. As soon as he heard the hurried arrival he glanced up and frowned. Choosing the side of caution, he allowed the Sheriff to walk past him and straight into the room beyond. But he did step into the path of his son.

"What are you doing here Scott?"

Attempting to step around the tall figure, he answered, "I'm here for Stiles."

Firmly, his father stood his ground. "You can't go in there."

"Why not?" Scott demanded, not bothering to hide his frustration.

Exasperated, Raf sighed, "Because this doesn't involve you."

"Yes, it does." In truth, Scott really wanted to add, _more than you know, _but bit his tongue instead. His dad was still in the dark about everything from werewolves to human sacrifices to nogitsunes. And somehow he didn't feel now was the right time to enlighten him. Pushing down his growing irritation, he decided to play a different angle. With the biggest puppy-dog eyes he could muster he pleaded in a soft voice, "Please Dad, he's my best friend and I want to be here to support him. Can't you make an exception?"

Surprisingly, his plea garnered a reaction. Slowly drawing in and releasing a breath, Rafael looked down at his boy and saw the fear and worry in those expressive eyes. Glancing around, he noted that the hall was empty at the moment and made a hasty decision against his better judgment. He couldn't break the rules but perhaps in this case he could bend them a little.

"Look, I can't let you into the interrogation room with Stiles. I can't let his answers be swayed for any reason." When Scott opened his mouth to protest, Raf quickly continued, "But you can wait in the observation room." At Scott's stunned look, he steered the teen into the side room and shut the door.

For a moment, he collected his thoughts and went to that place in his mind where emotions and feelings did not exist. He needed to be unbiased as well when he went in there to ask his questions. And prepare for what he feared would come. When he felt he was ready, he schooled his expression and took a deep breath before stepping into the room.

- tw –

As the Sheriff stepped into the room his heart clenched. While he had seen his son in this room previously during the whole Jackson fiasco, this was somehow completely different and much worse. First, Stiles had been handcuffed to the table. This alone told him that this wasn't a simple question session. No, there was more behind this than McCall had let on.

And secondly, his boy looked frail and small sitting there in his sleep clothes and pale as can be. Whatever that evil trickster had done to his son, Stiles was still suffering the effects.

Unable to stop himself, he quickly scooped his boy back up in his arms and hugged him – as much as the cuff would let him. Desperate to protect his boy, Stilinski knew his son had a mouth and he didn't want it to get him in any more trouble than he already was. "You didn't say anything yet, right?"

Speaking into the man's shoulder, Stiles reassured, "No, Dad. No one's even been in since they dumped me here."

"Good. Good." The Sheriff held the teen at arm's length and looked him over. Then he claimed the chair next to Stiles, instructing the youth as best he could. "I don't want you to say anything when he comes in. Let me do the talking until our lawyer gets here."

Frowning, Stiles reclaimed his own chair. "Lawyer? Do you really think we need one?"

The Sheriff wiped a hand over his face and sighed. "I'm hoping we don't. But I'm not leaving anything to chance."

Their conversation was halted as the door opened and Agent McCall strode in. Calm and steady, he began, "I know you are aware of how this works. And right now all we need to do is go over some questions."

The Sheriff interrupted, "If this is just about a few questions, why is Stiles cuffed to the table?" He gestured to the cold metal circling the teen's wrists.

"No offense, Sheriff but considering Stiles' background and history, he was deemed a flight risk. Therefore we had to ensure he would stay put for questioning. If everything goes well, we'll let him go and you both will be free to leave."

"Fine," Stilinski dismissed him with a wave, "then let's get this over with." He had been mildly curious about what they were pulling Stiles in for. The only way they would find out was to let this proceed.

"OK," Rafael sat down across from the teen and flipped open the folder. "Let's begin. Stiles, where were you the morning of October 30th?"

Without thinking, the teen scoffed, "School," while his father frowned at him.

"Earlier than that."

"Sleeping?" Stiles shrugged.

"So we're doing this the hard way then, fine. In the early hours of October 30th, did you enter the school grounds to prank your lacrosse coach?"

Both Stilinski's faces darkened a moment, glancing at each other for some brief non-verbal communication. Apparently, they were not on the same page because Stiles said, "_If_ I was, I was only doing what coach wanted."

Beside him, the Sheriff hissed, "Stiles, I said not to answer anything."

Not giving any indication on why or how the information he was collecting was relevant, Raf pressed on. "Have you ever had any contact with Barrow either directly or indirectly?"

With an expression of dealing with someone of lesser intelligence than himself, Stiles answered truthfully, "Not until he tried to electrocute us, which blacked out the city if you recall."

"And yet, you came to me with some idea that Barrow was after your friend, because _someone_ – from the school as you suggested - hid him in the storage closet and then wrote him a coded message to kill her, which you were able to decipher quite quickly. And you just happened to come upon the right location without too much trouble just in time to save her."

Not liking where this was going, the elder Stilinski snapped, "What are you implying McCall? Stiles and Barrow have never been in contact, because I would never allow my child to go near a crazed killer like that let alone secretly plot with a criminal to kill a classmate he barely even knows."

Raf ignored him. His gaze firmly piercing the caramel eyes across from him. "Do you know the custodian at the High School who usually holds the keys to the storage closet?"

Unnerved by the scrutiny, Stiles shifted in his seat. "Everyone does."

"Did you converse with him on October 29th to obtain the key to the storage closet?"

"What? NO!" Both Stilinski's sat upright. Worried now, Stiles glanced at his father. The Sheriff asked with his eyes, if Stiles knew what McCall was talking about, which he quickly shook his head _no._

McCall drew their attention back to him, "You sure about that?"

"I think I would know if I got a key from him." But in truth, Stiles really couldn't be sure. The nogistune had already started to take control at that point. Was it possible that he had spoken to Mr. Park in order to obtain the key? There were so many things he had never been able to figure out and that key had been an integral part. His thoughts were interrupted as the FBI agent kept going with his questions.

"How did you know there would be a bomb on the bus?"

Doubting himself now, Stiles breathy voice spoke of its own accord. "Barrow did it before, it only seemed logical he would try again."

McCall wasn't buying it. "Barrow was dead at the time this bomb was placed. Yet you seemed to be aware of the impending danger. Can you explain how you came to this foreknowledge?"

Sheriff stood up abruptly and announced, "Alright, this is over. Stiles don't say another word. Our lawyer should be here any minute and you are going to release my son." He pointed at his nemesis.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff," Rafael stood as well. "But I'm afraid that we won't be releasing Stiles."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And why is that? I thought this was just going to be some questions."

Wiping a hand down his face, the agent met the other man's weathered eyes. He was not looking forward to what he was about to happen. In fact, he had really wished he didn't have to go through with it. But he had his duty. Taking a deep breath he began, "Unfortunately, circumstances had changed while I was bringing Stiles in. I have just been issued a Warrant for Stiles Stilinski's arrest in association with recent acts of terrorism at the Beacon Hills Hospital, Sheriff Station and High School."

Flabbergasted, the Sheriff shouted, "Are you insane?!" Stiles merely fell back in his chair in utter disbelief.

The door to the room burst open as Scott came barreling in. "You can't do this! It wasn't his fault!"

"Scott, stay out of this,' Rafael cautioned the teen, holding him at bay with an outstretched hand. He kept his attention on the Sheriff. "After careful review of the evidence gathered, Stiles can be placed at all three locations at or near the time of the occurrences. Materials and knowledge have also been found in his possession that could allow him to commit these acts. We may not know how all this is connected yet but we know he is involved."

"You bastard, you lied to us!" It took every bit of self control to not launch himself at the taller man and throttle him to within an inch of his life. But he knew it would only land him in his own cell. And he wouldn't be able to help his son from there. So he settled on staring daggers at the man with all the hatred he could muster.

For his part, Raf tried not to take offense. If their roles were reversed he would have felt the same. "I didn't. At the time I arrived at your house the evidence had not been fully reviewed. And it was another agent that applied for the warrant." He allowed some of his regret to bleed into his voice. "I'm sorry. I was hoping Stiles could provide us with something that could remove him from the case but you aren't talking and the evidence is not in your favor." He glanced at the teen who hadn't moved at all since the arrest. When even that garnered no reaction from the teen, he turned back to the father. "You of all people should know, I have to do my duty regardless of my feelings. And that means placing Stiles under arrest."

"This won't stand. He didn't do anything!" Agent McCall handed the warrant to the lawman for his review.

Scott heartily agreed, filling the silence with his conviction. "It wasn't Stiles, Dad. It wasn't _his_ fault."

Acknowledging his son, Raf said, "It doesn't matter, it has been determined there is enough evidence to arrest Stiles for all those tragedies. I hope that after digging deeper they won't be issuing a Warrant on you since you seem so certain Stiles is innocent." Taken aback, Scott's mouth snapped shut.

Unable to deny the legal document in front of him, Stilinski breathed, "He's underage, he can't go to county. And I won't put him in juvie. He would be at risk of retaliation on my account. Besides, my lawyer will get him out on bail and clear this whole mess up." He had to believe that.

"Until then he can sit in a cell here." Just then two sullen deputies came in to collect their boss' son. Stiles was still in a state of shock. He allowed the men to manhandle him in the cuffs and lead him out of the room.

Stilinski reached out for the boy desperately. How many times could a heart break before it couldn't be put back together? "Don't you worry Stiles, you'll be out before lunch time." Stilinski promised. For the last time, their eyes met.

Then his son was gone.

- tw –

The morning stretched into afternoon and soon early evening. And nothing had completely been resolved yet. Bureaucracy and lawyer mumbo jumbo ruled the long hours arguing and debating Stiles' case.

While the evidence could not be fully disclosed until the actual trial, enough was divulged for the judge to determine no bail would be set as multiply lives were lost as a result of the terrorist acts.

However, Stiles' lawyer was able to convince the judge to place Stiles in a private institution based on possible mental instability at the time of the occurrences. So in the end, the judge approved the defendant's stay at Eichen House for his mental state to be reviewed.

This time, Stiles' venture in a Prisoner Transport van wasn't as pleasant as the last time. Not that holding Jackson - aka the Kanima - in the transport van had been fun. And when he stepped into Eichen house it was not by his choice.

But most importantly, when he was led into the secure wing a familiar face greeted him. The predatory gleam in the man's eyes made Stiles' stomach flip-flop.

"Mr. Stilinski, how nice of you to join us again." Brunski grinned.

- TW – TW – TW – TW –

I'm not too happy with this chapter but there's not much I can do about it now. Sorry I didn't post anything last Friday. Last week turned out to be a bad health week for me, which completely drove away my muse. I am hoping that forcing out a chapter and some reviews might lure her back. So please let me know what you think. Every word counts! Thanks!

Speaking of words, sorry for any typos and such, no time to re-read this chapter since I wanted to get it posted today. Forgive me!

In any case, I will try and get another chapter out for _Silencer_ this weekend too, but I'm not promising anything.

Thank you all for reading, faving, following and reviewing! Each one makes my day!

Until next Friday,

~Ari :D


	6. Chapter 5: Pain and Scars

"Don't worry fellas," Brunski addressed the police escort, "we've got it from here. Even have a room all ready for our special guest here. He's in good hands." Glancing over his shoulder, he nodded at two other orderlies – large orderlies for that matter. At the same time, he reached out and dealt with the paperwork admitting Stiles.

The teen stood stock still. He didn't want to give away how panicked he was in that moment. His choice at being in Eichen was gone. It was mandated – for good or otherwise. At first, Stiles had shrugged it off since his prior stint had been cut short by the Nogitsune. But now, now there would be no escape. He was at the mercy of his new caretakers and deep down Stiles knew last time was a sunny vacation compared to the dark cloud now looming over him. He found it hard to swallow as he watched the head orderly ooze words with hidden meanings.

Now that the formalities were tended to, and the police shuffled off, Brunski addressed his charge. "You can't even imagine how excited I am to see you again Mr. Stilinski. We never really got that one-on-one time during your last visit. I am looking forward to many sessions in the near future."

The group slowly moved down the hall to the cellblock of the secure wing, big metal gates squeaked and clanged ominously as they progressed. "I hope you weren't expecting the same type of treatment as the last time. See, when we get cases like yours, rules and boundaries need to be established." The insidious man stopped in front of a door with two slits in the metal frame – a sliding viewer at eye level and another sliding portal at the bottom for food or God knew what else. Grinning, Brunski unlocked the room. "Welcome to your new home, _mister_ Stilinski." He addressed his cohorts, "Boys, make him comfortable."

With that, the two men shoved the still cuffed teen inside. Caught off guard and bound, Stiles was unable to prevent himself from crashing to the floor with a painful thud. He lay there, eyes clenched, desperate to get air back in his lungs. So it was no surprise that he practically jumped out of his skin when the deep voice of his tormentor suddenly whispered in his ears. "I'll admit Stiles, I don't have any unusual talents like some of your friends. But somehow, I just knew we were gonna get a chance to do this again."

At that comment, Stiles jerked his head to the side to look at the man's face. The smug expression glared back at him and slowly withdrew. But Stiles didn't register his retreat. Instead his mind was racing with new information and questions. _He knows… he knows there are supernatural creatures out there. He knows some of my friends are supernatural. But _how_ does he know? Does he know which friends? What else does he know?_

Unfortunately, the teen was so caught up in his onslaught of thought his mind did not comprehend the words spoken over him until it was too late. Brunski looked at his companions with a broad smile and instructed them, "Just make sure there are no visible marks. Understand?" At their nod, he gave them leave. "Then he's all yours for now. But don't worry _Stiles_, we will have our time soon enough." Then he left.

With permission granted and parameters set, the two hulking orderlies laid into the downed youth, kicking and punching. Pain blossomed across Stiles' stomach, chest, back and legs. The cuffs that still bound him limited his ability to block or defend himself. It seemed like hours the attack continued. And it wasn't until a cracking sound emitted from his side and white hot light flashed across his vision, did the men stop.

Their work done, the thugs stalked out leaving the writhing teen alone. He couldn't figure out which part of him hurt worst. A strange sort of throbbing washed over him making all the bruises and wounds pulse between burning agony and blessed numbness – all at different times.

While he lay there groaning and squirming, his mind catalogued his surroundings. Amazed that his brain could still function past the pain bombarding it, Stiles decided it would be safer to focus on that than his body. His forehead pressed down onto the cold tiled floor. From the brief flashes he caught during his beating, Stiles noted that the room was similar to the solitary confinement Brunski tossed him in after the keys incident. Floor and walls covered with tile, a drain at his back in the center of the floor. No furniture apart from the crappy looking cot along the right wall. The two florescent panels in the ceiling remained dark. It was only the faint glimpse of moonlight through clouds and the tiny barred window high above that provided any source of illumination.

_Guess it was good there wasn't much to see._ His mind mocked. Stiles deigned it pointless to respond. Instead he focused his energy on making it to the cot. While he doubted it would be comfortable by any means, he wagered it would be a little better than sleeping on the ceramic floor. It was a slow and painful process dragging his body across the rigid tiles. If felt like forever until he had finally pulled himself onto the thin, lumpy bed.

The metal links of the handcuffs rattled as he moved, another physical reminder that this nightmare was real. Carefully, he maneuvered his body into the fetal position, the side with the hot poker up, and managed to drift off into a fitful slumber.

-tw-

The next morning ice cold water literally washed over him, startling him out of sleep and thrusting him to immediate alertness. And with awareness came the onslaught of pain. Each bruise and ache made themselves known. Gasping from the frigid temperature, Stiles searched his surroundings for the cause, only to land on the grinning Brunski.

His tormentor cheerily greeted, "Morning Stilinski. Hope your first night was pleasant."

Scooting himself back into the corner and wrapping his arms around his chest and his knees brought up, Stiles chattered from the cold. "Yeah, regular night at the Ritz."

"Ah, now there's the sarcasm I remember. Don't worry, we have ways to cure that."

Lack of self-preservation was a fault he and Scott had discussed often. Once again, his mouth shot off of its own volition, "If my dad hasn't been able to do it for the past 17 years, I doubt you'll be able to."

And for the first time since he had known him, Brunski's smile faltered. With a scowl, his voice deepened. "You'd be surprised." Then the moment passed and the snarky smirk returned. "Now normally, this would be when we feed you little turds breakfast, but as I mentioned last night we need to establish some boundaries and rules. First, get comfortable because this spacious suite is going to be your home for a long time."

"Oh so it's ok for you to use sarcasm," Stiles snipped back.

Brunski pretended to ignore him for the moment. "According to the law we are required to feed you, however it does not require that we feed you gourmet meals nor three full meals a day. So your meals are discretionary. In other words, it is _my_ discretion if you will be fed or not."

Appalled, Stiles jumped from his corner arguing, "You can't do that! That's ill-" A fist to the stomach stole the rest of his outrage. Crumpling to the floor he coughed and gagged.

Nonplussed by the interruption, Brunski crouched down and continued, "Outbursts such as this are cause for disciplinary action. Fighting, swearing, _sarcasm_ are also grounds for punishment along with any activities that hinder treatment. Which means it is up to me to decide your fate while at Eichen House. Anything and everything you say, do or don't do will be reported to me. If you play nice and act appropriately, we should get along just fine. If you don't, and based on prior experience, more than likely, you are going to find yourself in a whole world of hurt."

Having regained some control over the spasms of his diaphragm, Stiles managed to get the words out, "I'll tell my dad. He'll…"

"Do nothing, Stilinski. You can't hide behind dear old daddy here. Eichen house doesn't have a Sheriff. And last I checked, dear ol' daddy hasn't been keeping up with the payments from your last visit. He can't pull rank here with a debt hanging over him. Not only that, your visiting hours have been revoked. Only your lawyer is permitted to speak with you until the trial starts. You won't be able to tell anyone anything."

"My lawyer?"

"Yeah, you have a meeting scheduled with him this afternoon. Oh and I would not advise spilling to him either. If you tell him you have been treated anything but good while here, you'll regret it. Afterall, you may be the one locked in here but daddy… your friends? Don't want them to meet with some unfortunate accident, do we?"

Stiles glared at the man with all the hatred he could muster but remained silent.

Brunski laughed. "See, even scum like you can be taught." Lording over the trembling youth, the head orderly stood tall. "You should be dry by the time your lawyer gets here. Til then, make yourself at home Stilinski." The brute sauntered out.

Alone again, Stiles picked himself off the floor, one hand on his stomach, the other hanging loosely from the cuff. They still hadn't removed the bindings and his skin was starting to chafe from the constant friction. Glancing at the soaked cot, the teen gingerly walked to the opposite corner. Sliding down the tile, he curled in on himself to stay warm and waited.

Cold, wet and seething, the only thing Stiles could concentrate on was all the different ways he wanted to kill Brunski – not that he ever would, but he could dream couldn't he? By time he got to 50 different gruesome and pain filled ways to dismember, slice, dice and beat the man to death, his thoughts started drifting. Actually, it was getting harder to concentrate.

How much time had passed? Still huddled in the corner, it wasn't just his thoughts that started drifting. Boredom and stress and pain and horrible sleep patterns made a bad mix. Slipping in and out of sleep, memories and nightmares mingled. Once again he was trapped in his own body while the Nogitsune tore his world apart. Friends he cared about now gone. The ones still around blamed him. Then it wasn't the nogitsune anymore, just him with blood on his hands. And the rest of his friends and family lay in pieces around him.

A scream tore from his throat piercing the veil between dream and reality, reverberating off the tiles and echoing around the tiny room. Thrust into awareness the nightmare lingered. Disorientated, he didn't understand why he was back at Eichen house. Light poured in from the sliver of a window above indicating it was the middle of the day. His stomach clenched and growled painfully reminding him that he had not eaten in a while. Brunski's face popped into his thoughts telling him that food would not be an option.

Stiff and achy, he forced his body to unfold. His clothes were no longer wet but no less uncomfortable. The manacles circling his wrists denied any possible relief even if he had a change of clothes. More than likely a new wardrobe would also be Brunski's prerogative. Stretching out his tight muscles, Stiles wondered why the orderly had it out for him. His imagination was one that it could figure out at least 10 different reasons in a matter of minutes. But until he had more clues it would remain a mystery.

Stiles made it back to the cot which was only a little damp now. He sat on the drier side and waited. He really wanted to shout for someone to give him some food, but past experience told him it was useless. Instead, he leaned against the wall biding his time before his meeting.

Amazingly enough, he hadn't sat there long when the lock on his door clicked open. One of the two brutes strode in with a tray in one hand and something tucked under his other arm. After he shut the door, he tossed the lump of material at Stiles feet. "Change into those when you finish eating. I'll take you to your lawyer when you're done." He then held out the tray that had a PB&J, a small apple and a small bottle of water.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Stiles readily took the tray and didn't bother waiting for the man to leave before he took a bite. But he was thankful the man didn't stick around to watch him wolf down the meager meal. Even after managing every bite he could, his stomach still grumbled for more. And the spike of sugar, carbs and protein did little to settle the slight trembling he felt starting deep in his bones.

There were barely any crumbs left and the apple core kept the top and bottom on with a pencil thick bit of flesh. So he put the plate down and gathered up the clothes. Changing his bottoms was easy. The real SNAFU was the shirt. He still had the cuffs on and there was no way of getting around them to take off let alone put on the fresh garment. Frustrated and angry and cold and achy, he sat with his leg agitatedly bouncing for his guard to come back.

In truth at most ten minutes had passed since the man first walked in to the time he returned. And at the first click of his lock, Stiles sprang from the cot and held his hands out expectantly. The orderly frowned. "You haven't fully changed yet."

"No shit Sherlock, kinda hard to do that with my wrists still manacled together. Mind taking them off already?"

"Count yourself lucky smartass that Brunski said we have to play nice right now until after your little meeting." The man groused while he unlocked the cuffs.

"Yeah well don't get your hopes up. I won't be staying as long as you all think. And when I get out everyone's going to know about your little extortion ring going on here. Now get out so I can change."

The orderly shifted to stand tall and cross his arms in front of his chest, clearly stating he wasn't budging an inch. There was even a non verbal dare for Stiles to try and make him. All of the teen's bravado suddenly drained away. The emotional switch was so abrupt Stiles gasped and felt his eyes start to prickle with unshed tears. In a much calmer, softer and more desperate voice he added, "Please."

"Either you can do it or I can do it. Your choice."

The prickle turned into a sharp sting as a tear broke free. "Could yo-you at least turn around?" The man glared and stood his ground. "I didn't think so," he mumbled while turning around himself. Humiliation washed over him as he started to peel off his shirt. He hadn't undressed in front of anyone like this since his last doctor's visit. And they already knew what to expect. Only two other people in the world knew what he kept covered up all the time besides his doctors. Not any of his team mates (having managed to keep covered up in the changing room at school.) Not even his best friend and brother, Scott.

Sweet, naïve Scott had only asked him once when they were kids why Stiles always changed in the bathroom, he had simply said because that's always how he did it. Scott accepted the answer without a second thought and never questioned it again.

But the truth of the matter is that he was embarrassed by the scars. No one understood what life was like once his mother's dementia fully took hold. His dad had only seen bits of it, caught up working odd hours and campaigning for Sheriff. In her lucid moments she fully supported her husband and constantly encouraged him to go for the win. But those moments didn't last and often disappeared while his dad was away. On the really bad nights little Stiles had to lock himself in his room until his father came home. On the good nights his mom would make him some hot cocoa and read him a story to bed. Unfortunately those nights soon became few and far between as her condition progressed.

In the end she had become a danger to everyone including herself. It was the reason she was at the hospital. She needed more care than what his father could handle. She realized she was hurting her family, her little boy and there was no cure for her ailment. So she had been palming her medication; sedatives, pain killers, whatever. Then she had a particularly bad episode one night. The nurses were able to subdue her but Stiles had still taken the brunt of her confusion and anger. They were nice and treated his wounds.

The next night, Stiles sat with her as he always did. She was restrained but could still move somewhat. She had asked him for a drink of water, which he happily fetched for her. What he didn't realize was what she intended to do that night. She took her medicine – all of it. Stiles thought she had somehow taken more than she should, but she shushed his worry and patted the bed beside her. Young Stiles crawled up and lay down next to her. She gently stroked his hair and whispered stories of magical creatures and happy endings. The two drifted off. It was the beeps and alarms that roused him not long after. Then people were pulling him away while they tried to save his mother. In the end it was all for naught.

That night was etched into his psyche for ever and ever. And the nights leading up to it were etched into his skin. Both layers of scars were constant reminders of a life long ago; private, intimate. No one who didn't understand were meant to see them. And yet this brute who treated him like the scum of the earth watched. There was no hiding the marks on his back and he wondered if the man would ask. To his great relief, the man said nothing. Pulling the shirt over his head, Stiles felt like his eight year old self, weak and beaten.

The orderly grunted, "Come on." Heart pounding in his chest, Stiles slowly turned and started for the door. The orderly proceeded him and just inside the doorframe, barred his way. Smirking, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out something for Stiles to see. "Brunski told me to show these to you as a reminder not to talk. Go ahead, look close."

Curious, the teen took the pictures and felt his heart stop. The first was his father walking out of their house to his car. The second was Scott at the front desk of Deaton's clinic. And the last was Lydia sitting outside the school freshening her make-up. _How the hell did Brunski know about Scott and Lydia?_ And more importantly, _does he know what they are?_

Snatching the photos back, the jerk asked, "Understand, kid?"

Anger filled him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. Still Stiles managed to answer through clenched teeth, "Yeah, I get what blackmail is."

"Good, time to talk to Mr. law, and we better hear nothing but rave reviews."

"Whatever, let's just get this over with."

Satisfied, the man led him down the hall to meet with his only contact beyond this house of hell.

- TW – TW – TW – TW –

Oh my gosh! I am sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving weekend. I really meant to post this chapter a few weeks ago but I ended up getting stuck half way through this. I wasn't entirely sure where I wanted it to go and in the end it went in a completely different direction than what I imagined and yet still ended it where I wanted it to stop. Not sure that made any sense, sorry.

Anyway, I just couldn't finish it when I wanted and then we were going away for Thanksgiving so we were packing and prepping. I brought my laptop intending to finish it one night and post by black Friday but idiot me somehow managed to forget the plug and since the battery only holds about .038 seconds worth of a charge, it was useless. Again, my bad. Please forgive me!

Hopefully now I can get back on track and post on Fridays again. I am also hoping to post a few TW inspired T-shirts I thought up on eBay this weekend too. I will update my profile if I do in case anyone is interested.

Quick shout out to Hey There- Hope you are still alive! Sorry it has taken me a while to post; real life can be a real bitch sometimes. Thanks for the review!

As always, thank you everyone for reading, reviewing, alerting, faving, trolling, fairying – woah, wait a sec, got a little carried away with all the '-ings.' Must be the full moon. LOL. Anyway you get the drift.

Until next week my friends,

~Ari :D


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